“The man's got more money than God, and he sends you a bag of coffee?”

“Into the night, in the dark, he lay beside her, listening to her breathe. He knew the varied and sundry reasons a man would kill. But none were more fierce, none were more vital than to hold safe what he loved.”

“How's it going down there?""It's weird. They're too polite, they talk funny, and stuff has too much shine on it. But the coffee's worse than Central's, so that's something.”

“It's more than you think it can be," she heard herself say. "It changes everything, and fixes everything that matters. Maybe you're never going to be the same, and maybe part of you is always afraid of what will happen if...but he's always going to be there. All you have to do is reach out, and he's going to be there.”

“Man. God. Roarke.An interesting and flattering lineup.”

“That Chippendale is a coffee table, Lieutenant, not a footstool.""How do you walk with that stick up your ass?" She left her feet where they were, propped comfortably on the table. "Does it hurt, or does it give you a nice little rush?""Your dinner guests," he said, curling his lip, "have arrived.""Thank you, Summerset." Roarke got to his feet. "We'll have the hors d'oeuvres in here." He held out a hand to Eve.She waited, deliberately, until Summerset had stepped out again before swinging her feet to the floor."In the interest of good fellowship," Roarke began as they started toward the foyer, "could you not mention the stick in Summerset's ass for the rest of the evening?""Okay. If he rags on me I'll just pull it out and beat him over the head with it.""That should be entertaining.”

“What did she say?" Eve asked when they got into the car. "Here's love, she said, to hold until next we meet and I give you more.”